


as you wish

by angryjane



Series: and they were roommates [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Simon, Boys In Love, Dinner, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Established Relationship, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV First Person, POV Simon Snow, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 21:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjane/pseuds/angryjane
Summary: date night date night date night date night date night da-





	as you wish

**Author's Note:**

> sdjlfkbgopnlhmjgnfkdlskmcdjvnb
> 
> moe or less a continuation of "oh my god they were roommates" but not really dns;fmlg;,

It's always like this, now-- really good, that is. He's always watching me, and I think maybe he always _was_ watching me, before, and I just didn't notice. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen-- his eyes get all dark and narrowed, his mouth full as his fangs pop; I feel like he might eat me alive if I let him.

It's always about letting him, too. Asking him, begging him. I guess he still gets a kick out of feeling above me. I can't say I mind.

We're at some fancy restaurant tonight, and he's doing it again. That thing where he watches me, head tilted down, chin tucked into his hand and eyes intense.

I watch back, head held high, but we both know I'll lose this game. I always lose when it comes to him, but it doesn't ever feel much like losing, honestly. Everyday I get to spend enjoying him rather than killing him is a win.

He smirks, now, and I'm in for it. He's stunning in that green suit of his, and he knows it. Clean-cut lines, sharp like him; he's trouble-- he looks so _good._ And worst of all, he knows it.

I clear my throat, looking down at my hands in my lap. I don't have to look up to know he's smirking again.

He chose the restaurant, of course. He seems to know these things intuitively. What fork is for what course, what suit to wear, how to drive me up the wall. I guess it all comes from being raised like that-- I wouldn't know.

 

**Baz**

 

The waiter keeps hitting on him. And he's too dense to even _realize_ , sitting there all innocent. He's not dressed up nice, like everyone else in this godforsaken place, and he sticks out like a sore thumb, but he still looks so good, everyone must notice. I guess it is my fault, really-- I hadn't told him I'd pick him up and drag him off here. But still, he has absolutely no right to be the most beautiful person in this place, practically shining in a stupid ratty t-shirt (mine) and jeans. _Jeans_ , for Merlin's sake.

He's wrinkling his nose adorably at the menu, eyebrows scrunched as he tries to comprehend the French on the page.

"Just get what I get." I tell him, and he pouts.

"But what if I don't like it?" He's whining, and it's not _fair_. I want to make him whine in other ways. I want it to be a _good_ kind of whine.

"Snow, have you ever had food you don't like?"

He pauses, tilting his head like a bird. "...No."

I snort, and normally I'd be disgusted with myself for it, but he brings out he worst in me. Or the best, I'm not sure.

"How are we doing over here?" The waiter interrupts, appearing by our side. Or, more by Snow's side, leaning obnoxiously into his space, batting his eyelashes at him. I roll my eyes, and Snow sees-- he tilts his head again, but doesn't say anything to me, just shrugs and tells the waiter, "We're fantastic. Thanks."

"Anything I can," The waiter raises an eyebrow, voice lowering as he looks at Snow, and my knuckles go white where I'm gripping the table, "help you with?"

"No." Snow shrugs again, unaware.

The waiter looks miffed, but leaves all the same, eying Simon as he goes. And I can't really blame him-- Snow does look absolutely delicious tonight, like all nights-- but it pisses me off anyway.

"You're sneering again." Snow points out, leaning over the table towards me, menu forgotten. There's a little candle on the table, and it makes him glow in golden ripples as it flickers.

"How observant." I sound nasty, haughty.

"Baz," He huffs, jutting his chin out indignantly. It shouldn't be endearing, yet here we are.

"Snow." I shoot back, leaning forward as well. On instinct, I reach a hand out to touch him, because I'm allowed to do that now, and I've wanted it so long. My fingers skim his jaw and he inhales sharply, tilting his head into me. He smells like cinnamon and bonfires, and everything I'm craving. He smells like a five-course meal.

He's surging forward towards me, almost there across the table, when someone clears their throat beside us. I jerk away to see the waiter, arms crossed angrily.

"Are you ready to order?" He asks, glaring at me.

"I'll have what he's having." Simon says in a daze, still looking at me. He bites his bottom lip, and my eyes jump down to watch him suck it into his mouth, between his teeth.

I order, and the waiter all but stomps away. I snort a little at that, triumphant. What was he expecting? We're here on a fucking _date_ , after all.

Snow's face is pink, and he's looking down at his lap, eyebrows pulled in. I watch as he knots this fingers together, pulls them apart, knits them back up. He tilts his head to one side, to the other, then back. And back again. Simon alway does things in twos or fours. Sometimes fives. At the very beginning of our co-habitation at Watford, I'd interrupt his routines of twos and fours just to fuck with him, but I'm better than that now. I let him complete his little quirks, all of them, until he's ready.

He'll shut the lights on and off twice before leaving the house. He doesn't let green foods touch yellow ones. He claps his hands five times, and five times only, at any show I take him to. When he gets especially nervous, he'll tap each finger against his cranium in rhythm, going through all the fingers on one hand, then the other. he doesn't like wearing socks, too.

It's all so wonderfully Snow, though. I love him for it.

He coughs now, tapping two fingers against each other before standing abruptly, chair scraping back loudly, before announcing, "I have to pee," and bolting for the bathroom. I watch him go, jittery steps and wobbling legs. He's like newborn colt.

When he comes back, he's frantic.

"Baz, Baz!" He's practically pouncing on me now, collapsing against his chair. His eyes are wide and his hair disheveled as he rushes out, "I saw a _worm_ int he mens' room! A _worm!_ "

I stare at him. "And?"

"What do you mean, 'and?'" He pouts, crossing his arms and glaring in a poor imitation of me, "It's a worm. In the loo. At a fancy restaurant."

I don't get it, but I nod along anyway. Simon smiles, and I roll my eyes at him fondly. He's kind of adorable.

The food comes, then, and Simon is silent as he devours it-- he did like it after all, as expected.

His eyes bulge when the waiter brings the check, and I snatch it out of his hands before he can protest. It _is_ kind of a lot, but it's worth it. He's worth it.

There's a scrap of paper tucked in beside the bill, with ten little digits scrawled on it. I crumple it in my fist and drop it in my wine glass before dragging Simon away from the table and out into the night.

 

**Simon**

 

Baz is practically dragging me down the sidewalk, storming towards the flat like a man on a mission. His fingers are cool against my wrist and he's practically stomping, posh shoes thumping heavily against the pavement. Baz's nails are sharp; they always kind of are. I like it.

"Baz?" I chance, and he turns his head a little to catch my eye in the flashing light of a streetlight as we pass. His eyes gleam gold, then go back to their normal grey and i shiver. He smirks.

"Basil?" I say, and he lowers his brow, turning away. I can never decide if he really hates or loves when i call him that, but he's never told me to stop.

"Yes, Snow?" He sounds a little strained.

"Why are we walking so fast?"

He looks back over his shoulder at me and grins, all devilish and undeniably handsome, and it's like he's lit my gut aflame-- he's always really liked to play with fire.

_Fuck_.

 

\-------

 

We have a flat now, Baz and I. Penny is only a few blocks away, her and Micah and their wedding plans filling up the place we used to share. Our flat is small, but smells like Baz's posh soap and the scones I've been learning to bake. It smells like home.

When I finally turn the key in the lock, Baz is already pushing me through to the foyer, kicking his shoes off and slamming the door behind him.

"Baz-" He yanks at my t-shirt, glaring menacingly down at me. His tongue slips out and slides across his lips, and I can't help but follow it with my eyes. I swallow. "Baz, what..." I can smell that stupid soap and that other thing that's all so _Baz_ and it's filling me up.

"Snow," He huffs, smirking at me again, and _fuck_ , "Come to bed with me?"

I can't help the whimper that slips out of me. "Yes please."

 

**Baz**

He's blushing down to his chest, pink dipping down below the collar of his t-shirt, and I want to follow it with my tongue. He's got his head bowed as he shuffles towards the bedroom, curls slopping forward into his eyes.

"Snow," I call out, and he turns his head to look at me, not meeting my eyes. "You're gorgeous."

He swallows again, all slow and showy, his disarmingly perfect Adam's apple bobbing and his muscles contacting, and damn if I don't want to bite him, sink my teeth into that delicious golden flesh. He always gets like this, no matter how many times we do this, all shy and bashful and pliant, and I absolutely adore him like this. I adore him when he's being loud and obnoxious too, but this is different. Softer.

"Stop," He huffs, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth. It comes out pink, drawn, and I reach out to run my thumb along it. It quivers beneath my finger, and Simon's breath stutters.

"Baz," He says softly, nipping at my thumb, and I'm so gone. "Please."

"Please what, Snow?" I tease, because it's so easy to. My hand slips from his mouth, down his round chin, to that glorious neck, and then I slip two fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. We've only made it halfway across the flat. "Use your words."

He growls, and glares, and it's adorable. I laugh, dropping my hand to his and dragging him the rest of the way to our room.

"Baz." He repeats, a little more desperate this time, the way I like him, and now _he's_ pulling _me_ into the bedroom, " _Please._ No more teasing. Just touch me, Baz, please."

I grin. I've never been able to deny him anything., when it comes down to it.

"As you wish." I tell him, and he giggles.

I shut the door.

**Author's Note:**

> seriously, i really don't know how to write intimacy. tips, pointers, feedback??? please????
> 
> have a nice night uwu uwu xoxo


End file.
